


Grumps

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: for the prompt 'grumpy kitten Arthur' from glim





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/gifts).



> WARNINGS: mention of grief

“I should go shopping. I got paid, and I want a doughnut. Will you take me? I know we have food in the house, but I have money, and we can just buy the nice things. Maybe some ice cream, and a pizza. Or like prawn crisps. Or prawns! I could buy prawns.”

 

“Merlin, shut up, I don’t care about your stream of consciousness about shopping. Go or don’t go, but shut up.”

  
  


“Oh. Okay. It’s cold and dark, and you have a car. Also, could you please please please just text Gwen back? It’s been four days and she’s trying to turn me into an owl.”

 

Arthur sighs, really heavily, and jerks his glasses off his face. Merlin gives a disarming, charming grin, and leans into the doorframe, very aware of his baggy pyjamas and ratty cardigan and old wool slippers. He knows Arthur likes it when he’s dressed sloppy in the evenings, making himself comfortable in the house. Arthur worries about things, and since Merlin moved in his favourite worry has been Merlin treating the house as a home, and as his as well as Arthur’s. Arthur wants to share. Which is unusual, and very sweet. Merlin is also aware that the more ‘studenty’ and ‘lackadaisical’ (both Arthur’s words) he looks, the more likely Arthur is to think of him as useless and pathetic and needing lifts places, incapable of safely handling a push bike. Merlin hastilly tugs the sleeves of his cardy over his hands and makes his grin a bit more gormlouse, as Arthur spins in his office chair and looks at Merlin. 

 

The contrast is startling. Arthur’s still in his suit, and is so carefully put together and clean and slicked down. His hair looks like playmobile hair, his skin obsessively moisturised and kept, his nails manicured beautifully. His eyes bore into Merlin, then he puts his glasses back on and turns his back, dismissing him. Merlin huffs. No lift tonight, then. Arthur’s in a grumpy mood. Merlin straightens and frees his hands, reaching into his cardigan for his phone. If Arthur’s not driving Merlin places he’s definitely not texting Gwen, which means Merlin needs to. Or else she’ll explode his phone with texts. Arthur taps his laptop then stands abruptly and stalks over. 

 

“Well?” he snaps. 

 

“Well…” Merlin says, making a questioning face. 

 

“Shoes, coat, keys,” Arthur says. “I’m only going to Waitrose, though, none of your Aldi or Lidl shit. Waitrose is closest.”

 

“Tesco is closest,” Merlin points out. 

 

“Tesco is the spawn of the Devil. Chop chop, or I’ll go without you,” Arthur says, pushing past. 

 

He’s ready before Merlin, and Merlin has to run down the front steps and jump in the car, coat in his arms, bags stuffed down by his feet, shoes untied. Arthur has left him behind before. Even when the only reason he’s going anywhere in the car is to take Merlin somewhere. Merlin puts his seatbelt on, turns up the heat, and settles back. Arthur turns the heat back down and puts on the CD in the player. Something classical and quiet. Merlin waits until they reach the intersection Arthur doesn’t like, then turns the heat up a bit again and switches to radio 1. Arthur slaps his hand away, turns the heat off entirely, and puts on the country music station that neither of them like. Arthur has it saved just as a special punishment if Merlin irritates him. 

 

“You forgot your glasses, can you even see?” Merlin says, reaching over to poke Arthur’s cheek. Arthur slaps his hand again and turns the music up. 

 

“I’m wearing contacts. Obviously,” Arthur says. “Idiot.”

 

“When did you do that?”

 

“When you were fannying about looking for bags,” Arthur says. “You’re talking too much. Shut up.”

 

Merlin turns the heat back on. Arthur turns up the music. The car is nicely toastie by the time Arthur parks, right in front of the store, leans back in his seat, and rests his hands over his stomach. Settling in. 

 

“Want anything?” Merlin asks. 

 

“Yes. For you to be quick,” Arthur says. “However, I know that is an impossible ask, so instead I hope merely that you are less than half an hour.”

 

“I’ll be ten minutes, if you text Gwen,” Merlin says. Arthur just looks at him. “No. Right. Silly suggestion. You’re not arguing with Gwen, are you?”

 

“Of course not. I just don’t enter into her, and your, habit of texting over meaningless nothings. It is a waste of time. As is your sitting here,” Arthur says. 

 

Merlin gets out and hurries into Waitrose. He doesn’t bother worrying about price- when Arthur makes him shop at Waitrose he always tucks some money into Merlin’s piggy bank in reimbursement. It’s Merlin’s traveling fund, and he’s happy to have money go there rather than, as would happen otherwise, on crisps and pre-made sandwiches and what Arthur calls ‘frivolous food’. He’s pretty sure Arthur thinks his slipping money in is a secret, so Merlin never mentions it. He gets Arthur Babybells and Frubes, hoping frivolous food will cheer Arthur up. He also picks up some nice posh fruit, mangos and apples and grapes, and some ice cream, and some crisps. He browses the biscuits aisle for a long time but in the end decides ice cream and crisps is probably enough. 

 

When he gets back to the car, Arthur’s still sat where left. He’s switched to the classical CD again, and turned the heat up. Merlin blinks, but carefully doesn’t comment. Arthur usually likes the car chilly. Arthur doesn’t say anything, just starts the engine and pulls out of the space. Merlin waits until they’re stopped at the lights, then reaches over to give Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze. He expects a glare, but instead gets a surprised smile. And  _ then  _ a glare, but still. He leaves his hand resting against Arthur’s biceps the rest of the way home. Arthur will never say whether or not things like that are appreciated or annoying. Both, Merlin thinks, depending on the time and place. This time and this pace he’s pretty certain Arthur likes the contact. He definitely likes the quiet, so Merlin keeps his mouth shut. 

 

He manages not to piss Arthur off for the next three hours. He surely is irritated by Merlin, but not overly so, and definitely not angry. He sits at the kitchen table in his shirt, jacket and tie and waistcoat discarded, while Merlin putters around making pasta and pesto for dinner, with courgettes and pumpkin to keep Arthur ‘twenty a day’  _ (twelve, Merlin, not twenty, and certainly not five)  _ happy. Arthur is happy, too, when Merlin sets a wide pasta bowl in front of him. He is not happy when Merlin settles stood against the counter to eat, glowering until Merlin sits at the table instead. He is also not happy when Merlin eats. He keeps flinching and breathing heavily through his nose. Merlin gets annoyed by it half way through. 

 

“Look, I am not eating with bad manners, or making lots of noise,” he says, as calmly as possible. 

 

“Your pasta squelches against the fork. And you smack your lips,” Arthur says. 

 

“Yours squelches too! That’s just the noise it makes!”

 

“It’s disgusting,” Arthur says, setting his fork against the bowl. 

 

He hasn’t eaten much. He gets up and leaves anyway, and Merlin sits on his own, the empty space mocking him, to finish his dinner in solitary silence. Arthur’s absence does mean Merlin can check his phone when it buzzes, without Arthur glaring. 

 

“Gwaine wants to know if we’re going on Saturday!” Merlin calls, assuming Arthur is still in hearing distance, not having heard him go upstairs.

 

“No,” Arthur calls from the living-room. 

 

_ Arthur’s in a fowl mood, let u no tomo? _

 

_ Wenev. Giv him break- mum’s birthday yestrday _

 

_ Shit forgot thnx _

 

_ Tell him 2 com sat, when he better mood. Wnt 2 c u guys ben age _

 

Merlin snorts. Gwaine’s ‘age’ is the length of a week. Less, with Arthur- Arthur saw him at work three days ago. They see him most weekends, at Gwen’s, like everyone else. Gwen texts next, but Merlin ignores it, finishing his dinner. 

 

“Gwen says text her!” Arthur shouts from the living-room. 

 

Merlin sends gwen a ‘busy talk later’, grinning. So Arthur does  _ read _ her messages. He just doesn’t reply. Merlin does the dishes from dinner, and prepares a bowl of fruit, the crisps, and the Babybels, taking it all through to the living-room. Arthur’s sat in front of the TV, ignoring an old Lewis episode. His hair’s mussed, his shirt gone, just a vest and his trousers on. Even his belt’s off. He’s got his glasses on again, a book open on a thigh, his phone in one hand. He’s playing bejeweled. 

 

“Are you winning?” Merlin asks, putting his tray of food on the coffee table and flopping down next to Arthur, leaning over to look. 

 

“No,” Arthur says, chucking the phone and book onto the table and taking a handful of crisps. 

 

Merlin turns the TV up and gets the bowl of fruit, settling against Arthur’s side. Arthur sighs, but allows it, picking bits of fruit when he’s done with his crisps. He eats a babybel too. 

 

“Your dinner’s in the oven, if you want it, keeping warm,” Merlin says. “Am I asking about yesterday, or will you bite my head off?”

 

Arthur’s more grumpy than angry tonight, but it’s always worth being wary. Arthur emotional can veer quickly from one state to another. 

 

“I won’t bite your head off,” Arthur mutters, grabbing a handful of grapes out of the bowl. “I’m sad, but it’s all mixed up, and it just comes out grumpy. I’m fine though. It’s Friday. Next week is next week.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Dunno. Seeing my GP about antidepressants till it’s summer again. The SAD light bulbs are helping I think. Now I’m gonna bite your head off, so shut up.”

 

“Grumble grumble,” Merlin says, happily, settling closer to Arthur, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist. 

 

Arthur takes the bowl of fruit, finishing off the mango before setting it aside. He wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and slouches into the sofa, gazing at the TV with a glazed expression. Merlin inches a hand slowly up Arthur’s back, to his neck, and into his hair, giving his scalp nice little scritches. Arthur always likes that, especially if he has a headache. He always has a headache on a Friday. He just sits, for a while, letting Merlin pet him, letting Lewis wash over him. Merlin chats a bit now and then, giving him the illusion they’re spending time together and doing something, so he can zone out and just drift. 

 

“I know I miss her, I can feel it,” Arthur mumbles, as the titles roll at the end of the episode. “I just don’t have any grief left, maybe.”

 

“You’re all twisted up. This week is always like this for you. It’s so much better each year, though. Look at how self aware of it all you are, this year,” Merlin says. “It’s fine to not be well every single second of every single day.”

 

“Hate feeling numb like this.”

 

“It won’t be forever. And until you feel something, you can curl up with me and pretend to watch TV. And come with me to Gwen’s and see Gwaine, both of them are bugging me incessantly,” Merlin says. “You have very annoying best friends.”

 

“They’re your best friends,” Arthur grumbles. 

 

It’s not actually untrue. They are Merlin’s best friends. They’ve adopted Arthur, though. They think he’s sweet and useless and clueless. It annoys Arthur because when he yells they just coo at him and stroke him, like he’s a hissing kitten who needs cuddles. It annoys Arthur much more than anything else, because it actually works. The cooing and the cuddles go a long way to soothe his ruffled feathers. Especially with the generous dollops of flattery. And cheekiness, from Gwaine, who’s always rude and uncaring of anything close to proprietary. He respects Arthur, though, which Arthur likes, so Gwaine gets away with things. 

 

“Can we maybe not watch Poirot? This is the pig one we’ve seen a gazillion times,” Merlin says. 

 

Arthur opens his mouth, probably to say how much he likes the episode and to refuse to change it. Then he gives a sly little smile and gets up. He puts on Harry Potter, of course. Merlin groans, floundering dramatically in the cushions of the couch, but doesn’t ask for it to be changed. Arthur pins Merlin’s limbs and curls up against him. Merlin subsides, and goes back to scritching. 

 

“The things I put up with for you,” Merlin says. 

 

“Because you love me,” Arthur says. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. I love you as well, so that works out okay. I’ll make dinner tomorrow, and do something nice for you. Because you’re going to have to get me out of bed with a crowbar or something. And I’m not going to be in a better mood.”

 

Merlin shrugs. He’s okay with that. Something nice will mean a bath with nice oils, Arthur will wash his hair for him, massaging his scalp. A massage, maybe, if he’s lucky. Something sweet and yummy and homemade for desert. And Sunday will be his day. Arthur will look after him, and pamper him a bit, while he plans next week’s lessons and does his marking. Merlin shrugs, and wriggles down into the sofa, drawing Arthur closer. 

  
  
  



End file.
